Poetry

Three Poems

Caravaggio, the Crucifixion of St Peter I push, I push hard with the fat and filthy soles of my feet and splintered back of my shirt, Shit, I push, the alarums of trumpets strong in my ears, the light still not come, this weight, this weight a match for any man, Pull, you bastards, pull, for I am near done. First Winter’s Night, London At last the bells grip and toll, fade and swell in winter wind, ring Oranges and Lemons in practiced short order from St Anne’s, from Steniz Café Breakfast-Lunch-Dinner and, finally, late afternoon, these streets have become…

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